


An Adjustment of Technique

by Bakkhai



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alex: so Wilde has trouble moving part of his mouth now, Awkward Kissing, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Me: oh like when they freeze your mouth at the dentist :(, well mild angst anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25138177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakkhai/pseuds/Bakkhai
Summary: Wilde and Zolf are both out of practice. They make it work.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 21
Kudos: 112





	An Adjustment of Technique

Zolf was standing too close. It was late and he was standing too close, and he knew it and he was ignoring it, and it was _fine_. It was fine. They were ignoring it.

He was leaning against the desk Wilde had co-opted. They must have been having a conversation at some point but it was a long time since they’d lapsed into a peaceful silence, broken only now by the rustle of paper as Wilde worked. It wasn’t an intimate closeness exactly, nothing anyone would make note of but Zolf felt it keenly. It would have been just enough to reach out and tuck away that irritating strand of hair that had fallen into Wilde’s face. He crossed his arms instead and politely ignored the way Wilde’s eyes flicked over briefly to follow his movement before returning to the desk.

They were ignoring an awful lot of things lately. Like the fact that Zolf was still lingering here, late at night and long after any conversation between them had ended. How often this seemed to happen these days. The way Wilde’s gaze traced over him sometimes when he thought he wasn’t paying attention. Not that Zolf really minded. He wasn’t so averse to being looked at as he might have been a year or two ago.

Oddly enough these days it was Wilde who was skittish about being observed. Zolf had noticed over the last several months that he’d developed a habit of turning his head ever so slightly when in conversation to hide the scarred side of his face, or of reaching up to cover the unresponsive corner of his mouth with his hand when speaking. It was another thing they didn’t talk about.

Even now as he glanced over, Wilde had propped an elbow on the desk and was leaning with his chin in his palm. The parts of his cheek not obscured by his hand were shielded by the hair that fell into his face. Zolf wondered if it was on purpose. His hair was getting rather long now. Almost, gods help him, _untidy._ He really ought to do something with it to keep it from-

Before he could make sense of what his muscles were doing, he reached out and deftly tucked the loose strands behind Wilde’s ear.

It was such an easy gesture, unremarkable, like something he’d been doing his whole life. It was only as Wilde’s head snapped up that he froze, trying to process what he’d done. Wilde’s face was unreadable as he lifted a hand to his hair, barely touching where Zolf had tucked it back. His mouth moved like he was trying to come up with a witty response but if so he seemed to be drawing a blank. It might have given Zolf some sense of satisfaction if his brain hadn’t been entirely preoccupied with the clattering of internal alarm bells. It was as he was trying to figure out how he could possibly extricate himself from this situation that Wilde’s gaze flicked down to his lips. Oh damn.

Zolf managed to wrench his head to the side at the exact moment that Wilde leaned in.

“This is a bad idea.” He tried to speak evenly. Wilde had pulled up just barely short, his nose just brushing Zolf’s cheek.

“Yes,” he breathed, words ghosting over the skin there. “It is, isn’t it?”

He didn’t move. Neither did Zolf, although his hand squeezed at the edge of desk behind him hard enough he thought if might break. There was an energy coming off Wilde, as if there were something thrumming just under the skin, trying to get out. Like someone restraining themselves by the skin of their teeth. How long had it been since someone had touched Wilde like that? If this was what such a simple gesture could do…

_To hell with it._ Zolf twisted his head round and pulled Wilde in.

The first kiss was eager, clumsy with the press of lips and tongues that had long since fallen into disuse. That was fine by Zolf. He leaned into it less self-consciously than he would have expected of himself, too distracted by the tight spring of want in his chest and the warmth of Wilde’s mouth opening to his. He allowed himself to be swept along and by degrees began to tug at the dusty strands of muscle memory.

Wilde was hungry, tugging Zolf close and dragging his hands over the muscle of his back. Something about him still seemed unsettled though, an agitation that curbed his enthusiasm. He almost seemed to wince at the casual imperfections of the kiss. He threaded his fingers into the short hair at Zolf’s nape, tilting his head as if to correct the angle, but the movement of his lips was stilted and out of synch with his own. He finally broke off with a grown of frustration, bringing his knuckles up to scrub at the corner of his mouth where dark scarring cut through smooth skin.

Ah. Zolf had forgotten about that.

He made to reach out but Wilde twisted away sharply. He leaned back in his chair, away from Zolf, continuing to massage the skin of his cheek as though it might bring the muscle back into working order. Zolf struggled to find something to say but Wilde beat him to it.

“As interesting as this… experiment has been Zolf, I think we’ll put an end to it here. Clearly I’m no longer ah, _equipped_ for this kind of thing.” His voice was angry and embarrassed. Zolf felt a pang. He knew how much of Wilde’s pride had once rested in his talent for _this kind of thing._ He may not have been that man anymore but it still clearly stung.

“Look, Wilde– _Oscar_.” The name felt unexpectedly natural, a pleasant weight on his tongue but he didn’t give himself time to think about it.

“It’s fine. Genuinely. It doesn’t–” He was cut off by a bitter laugh from Wilde.

“Are you going to tell me it doesn’t matter Zolf? Really?”

“Well it doesn’t! Maybe it would to some of the idiots you’ve been with in the past but not to me!”

Wilde gave another hollow laugh and made as if to extricate himself from the chair. Without thinking Zolf braced a hand on his chest and gently but firmly pushed him back down. He moved into Wilde’s space before his mind could catch up with him, climbing into the chair (sturdy, thank god) and stationing himself with a metal knee to either side of Wilde’s waist. The position gave him a slight height advantage and he took a moment to steady himself, looking at Wilde with interest from the new angle, noting the elegant slope of his nose and the dark sweep of his eyelashes. the slight look of surprise that he wasn’t quite hiding well enough. He really was beautiful, gruesome scar or no, and for once Zolf found that the fact didn’t irritate him.

Wilde seemed to register Zolf’s appraisal. Something flashed briefly across his face before he looked away, turning his head very slightly to the side, presenting the unscarred cheek. _Ah_ , thought Zolf. _Not this time._ He hooked his forefinger under Wilde’s chin and gently directed him back round. Wilde conceded the ground with a put-upon sigh.

“Right,” Zolf intoned with more confidence than he at all felt. “Now as things stand currently, I’ve got something of a partiality for this face, so I’d appreciate you not disparaging it” Wilde gave him a rather tight look but didn’t answer. Zolf took it as leave to continue.

“And don’t go saying anything stupid about how you’re not cut out for this kind of thing either. Just ‘cause you’ve got, you know, an impediment or whatever.” Wilde actually winced at that and Zolf was reminded that he wasn’t actually good at this kind of speech. He felt somewhere distantly however that he was working his way up to something and so chose (perhaps foolishly) to push on. He brought his hand up then to gently trace to pattern of scar tissue down the side of Wilde’s cheek with his thumb. He wasn’t entirely sure which one of them it was meant to be comforting.

“My point is there’s more than one person involved in kissing right? And if we were to make this a _thing_ ,” he felt his face heat slightly at the words, “like, as in a recurring thing, then we’ll both just have to adapt to suit the circumstances. Personally, I didn’t feel like we were doing too badly just now but if you feel like you need to practice your technique I’m all for it.” He paused a moment. Wilde’s expression had loosened ever so slightly while Zolf spoke until it began to resemble something like begrudging fondness.

“Anyway, it wouldn’t kill you to sit back and let someone else take charge for once.”

Wilde seemed to consider this for a long moment.

“I suppose,” he said finally, bringing his hands up to settle at Zolf’s waist, “it couldn’t hurt to try.” This was technically false. These were dangerous times and Wilde knew as well as Zolf that whatever they were about to get into could hurt them in a myriad of ways, from the minutely painful to the completely life-shattering. The statement was, he knew, an acceptance of risk rather than a denial of it. Zolf valued it more for that.

_Proceed with caution then._

He took Wilde’s face in both his hands and began again to trace the lines of it. This time Wilde tipped his head back against the chair, lifting his chin in a small show of faith that Zolf felt warmly. His eyes drifted shut. Zolf wondered again how long it had been since someone had touched him like this. Months? Years?

He took his time outlining she shape of Wilde’s jaw, then his cheekbones, the arch of his brow. He brushed a thumb over the soft curve of his lips, chest tightening as they parted ever so slightly. After a time, Wilde’s eyes flickered open to look up at Zolf through his eyelashes. His expression was one that Zolf hadn’t seen in a _very_ long time.

“So, you’d like to take charge of me would you, Mr. Smith?”

Zolf forced himself not to break eye contact even as he felt his heartbeat stutter in his chest. He leaned in.

“Yeah actually. I think I would.”

It was different this time, with Zolf leading. He slid his hands into Wilde’s hair, drawing him up into the kiss. His lips, when they met Zolf’s, were pliant, opening warmly to the soft press of his tongue. It was… nice. Still a bit unpracticed but easy and slow in a way that made it comfortable. He experimented, tightening his fingers in Wilde’s hair to change the angle, sliding his tongue over freshly bitten lips, pulling back just slightly before allowing himself to be dragged back in. Wilde hummed a pleased note into Zolf’s mouth, squeezing his hips and gods it _was_ good wasn’t it? Why hadn’t he done this in so long? Why hadn’t he kissed the stupid man senseless _months_ ago?

When they broke apart, Zolf leaned down to press his forehead against Wilde’s. They breathed together in silence for a long minute, interrupted only by Zolf’s soft chuckle as Wilde bumped their noses together.

“You’re a sap.”

“I certainly am not and I’ll thank you not to spread that kind of thing around.”

Zolf was going to reply but found himself overtaken forcefully by a yawn before he could get the words out.

“Sorry,” he said insincerely at Wilde’s offended look. He reached down to fish Wilde’s watch out of his waistcoat pocket and click it open. He heaved a sigh.

“We should probably get to bed.”

Disappointment flickered briefly across Wilde’s features before being replaced by a familiar half smirk.

“Is that an invitation?” Zolf shrugged, going for nonchalance, uncertain if he succeeded.

“If you like.”

Wilde actually looked slightly taken aback. He said nothing for several seconds and Zolf was just as equally expecting another lecherous joke as an outright refusal. Instead he reached out tentatively to take Zolf’s hand.

“Yes alright.”

A good night’s rest was hard to come by these days, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Suddenly relate to Alex Newall because after writing this I think I feel the same way about describing kissing with words as he feels about recording kissing on audio.


End file.
